


Come On You Boys in Love

by drunkniall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Harry, Football, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7311544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkniall/pseuds/drunkniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches as Niall grabs his beer, which makes Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “You’re going to drink the beer I paid for but you won’t greet me?” He sounds offended.</p><p>Niall turns towards him. “You’re in a band with me for five years now but you won’t acknowledge me during our hiatus?” Niall throws back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come On You Boys in Love

Harry ducks his head against the cold wind and reaches out to push open the door of the pub. A rush of warmth and the smell of beer hit him as he looks around for the familiar dyed blond hair. Everyone is wearing green, which is logical seeing Ireland is playing against Italy tonight. He recognises Niall then, and the boy's laugh can be heard through the small, cosy pub. It makes Harry smile.

He runs his hand through his short hair—which he’s still not used to—before making his way to where Niall is sitting with all his friends. Harry thinks of all the excuses he can come up with to explain why he had ignored Niall’s messages for months, but that’s all they are: excuses. It won’t change the fact that he has been a horrible friend.

He clears his throat when he’s standing close enough to the table, making everyone’s head turn around to look at him. A blush creeps up Harry’s cheeks and he awkwardly waves his hand. Niall is looking at him, but doesn’t say anything, an expectant look in his eyes.

Harry curses Niall in his head, although he knows he doesn’t deserve Niall being kind to him. “Hi everyone. Hope it’s alright if I join?” He asks, but doesn’t get a response, which means Niall must have told his friends about Harry ignoring him.

Harry eyes Niall’s friends' faces hopeful and then, he sees the empty pint in front of Eoghan. “Next round’s on me?” He proposes and that causes the group to cheer enthusiastically. Harry sighs in relief, giving the barman a sign to refill their glasses.

Harry takes off his scarf and coat and the people make room for him to sit next to Niall. He looks at his watch—only five more minutes until the game starts.

He’s about to say something to Niall when the waiter comes and gives everyone their drink, making the group roar energetically again—Irishmen and beer, Harry will never understand.

He watches as Niall grabs his beer, which makes Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “You’re going to drink the beer I paid for but you won’t greet me?” He sounds offended.

Niall turns towards him. “You’re in a band with me for five years now but you won’t acknowledge me during our hiatus?” Niall throws back. Niall almost never holds grudges or is angry for long. He is now, though, which means he’s really hurt.

“Niall, I’m sorry—“ Harry starts, but Niall shakes his head.

“I don’t want to hear whatever excuse you’ve prepared. You’re lucky you’re you, Styles. You’re paying for everyone’s drinks for the rest of the night and I’ll forgive you,” Niall jokes.

“Deal,” Harry replies without thinking.  


Niall shuts his mouth, raising an eyebrow. “Harry, I was joking,” he says slowly, as if he’s talking to a toddler and doesn’t want to make it upset.

“I don’t care. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll stop ignoring me,” Harry pouts and Niall just laughs, ruffles Harry’s short hair.

“Can’t believe you cut it. Looks good, though. You look younger,” Niall smiles, taking a swig from his pint. He licks his lips after and Harry cannot stop his eyes from dropping down to follow the movement of Niall’s tongue.

Their eyes meet for a long moment, the tension building and then—“The game has started!” someone shouts into Harry’s ear, making him jump. Niall’s eyes slide from Harry’s face to the screen and a big, excited smile spreads on his face. Harry turns his head to the screen hanging in the corner of the pub as well, recognising a couple of the Irish players’ faces. His heart starts to pound as Niall’s thigh presses against Harry’s, but Harry convinces himself it’s just nerves for the game.

Niall has always been… committed about football. Harry always thought Niall was devoted on stage, but he takes the meaning of that word to a whole other level when he watches his country play in the Champions League.

Niall’s on his fourth beer now since Harry has come in, probably because he’s nervous and needs to occupy his hands with something. He’s getting loud, yelling Gaelic curse words towards the TV, meant for the players and the referee. His facial expressions are funny to watch and Harry should be watching the screen, but he cannot take his eyes off of Niall’s face. He’s not being subtle, which he has learned when he saw Eoghan nudging a friend and nodding towards Harry, rolling his eyes. 

The thing is, Harry doesn’t care. He has wasted months neglecting Niall and he’s an absolutely twat for doing that. He has missed Niall, honestly. Missed how carefree and laid back Niall is about literally everything. Missed Niall’s laugh, his Irish accent, his fidgety hands. Missed Niall’s expensive cologne, his annoying ringtone. He just missed Niall.

He gets dragged out of his thoughts when Niall leans forward in anticipation, making his thigh push against Harry’s harder. Harry’s eyes flicker to the screen and he watches as Ireland is about to score. He can feel the hope rising in the pub, everyone holding their breath. A disappointed ‘oh’ can be heard when the player misses the goal by an inch.

Niall groans, smacking his hand on the table and Harry feels the uncontrollable urge to comfort Niall, to do something about Niall’s tense state. His hand drops to Niall’s thigh and squeezes gently. He can feel Niall tighten for a second before leaning into Harry’s touch as he always does. Harry can’t help but smile at the small victory.

He gives Niall’s thigh a squeeze every time it seems as if Niall is going to lose it. The pints disappear quickly and, no matter what Niall says, the fact that he’s Irish doesn’t change a thing about the fact that Niall cannot hold his liquor at all.

Niall’s shoulders start sagging, his speech becoming more aggressive and slurred as the minutes pass and Ireland doesn’t score. And then it happens. The game is almost over, only five minutes plus extra time left when Robbie Brady scores. It all happens in a haze, but Harry feels beer dripping over his jeans and thigh, a lot of shouting and singing. He’s being pulled to his feet and dragged into the crowd. Everyone is jumping around and the atmosphere screams happiness.

Harry is happy. He really is. But he doesn’t like being crowded like this. He can’t find Niall, doesn’t see the familiar blond quiff. His eyes keep scanning the crowd as he’s pushed forwards, people bumping into him, more beer spilling onto his shirt. He’s about to panic when he feels a steady hand guiding him through the mass of people and to the side. 

Niall is standing in front of him, face calm. He knows how to deal with this. He asks the barman for a glass of water, which he gets only seconds later, along with a worried glance of the barman towards Harry. Niall smiles reassuringly.

He hands Harry the water. “Drink it. Slowly.”

Harry feels like an idiot. “I’m fine. Go celebrate,” he wheezes.

“I said: drink it.”

Harry’s brow furrows but he does as he’s told, taking slow gulps until his throat and head hurts from the cold water.

“Are you okay?” Niall asks. He’s standing so close, Harry can smell his cologne, the one he has missed so much, mixed with the smell of beer.

Harry nods and takes deep breaths until his hands stop shaking and he's feeling better. “Yeah. Let’s celebrate Ireland’s victory, man. I’m fine now. Was just unexpected.”

Niall scans Harry’s face for any sign of hesitation. When he finds none, he gives Harry a bright grin before pulling him into the enthusiastic sea of people. A random guys pushes a beer into Harry’s hands, joined with something along the lines of _no football without beer_.

Harry accepts it gratefully because it’s hot in the pub and sweaty bodies keep pressing against his back and sides. He swallows the beer down in one long chug, and then he hears Niall’s laugh in his ear.

“Careful. You can’t drink for shit.”

Harry turns around, an amused grin on his face. “You can’t either.”

“I’m Irish. ‘Course I can,” Niall argues. 

Harry just shakes his head. “How many pints did you have tonight?”

“About nine.”

“And you’re still standing? I’m impressed,” Harry replies.

Niall rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to say something when he’s being pushed by an ardent celebrator, Niall’s and Harry’s chest colliding and their faces only millimetres apart. Harry licks his lips and Niall’s eyes drop down to Harry’s mouth as if he can’t help it.

Harry is convinced they are about to kiss, but then someone is announcing that the game is over and _Ireland has won_. If Harry thought the crowd was fierce now, they surely take it to another level.

Harry loses count of how many pints he’s handed, his vision blurry and a dopey smile on his face. He notices a green scarf wrapped around his shoulders and it makes him giggle for no reason. Niall eyes him in amusement before continuing the conversation with Conor.

An amount of time passes, Harry doesn’t know how much, but he suddenly finds himself standing on top of the bar, singing along to a song he doesn’t know the words of. When he’s about to unbutton his shirt, Niall decides to step in, pulling Harry down until the boy is crouched down on Niall’s level.

“Let’s go home,” Niall yells into Harry’s ear.

Harry pouts, “Niaaaaall.”

“C’mon, Harry. Get off.”

Harry blinks a few times. “C’n you call me a cab? I don’t know how to get to the hotel else way.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Hotel? Shut up. You’re staying at my house. Now get off.”

Harry nods, blowing a kiss towards the bartender before clumsily getting of the counter, almost falling on his face if it wasn’t for Niall keeping him upright.

Harry vaguely remembers saying goodbye to Niall’s friends and then cold air makes him snuggle into the scarf. He leans onto Niall’s shoulder, knowing he’s putting all of his weight onto the boy.

Niall starts texting as they wait for the cab to arrive, so Harry peers down onto Niall’s phone screen and after trying to make his fuzzy vision go away, he can make out the name Conor on top of the screen.

“Who’s Conor?” Harry asks and he cringes inwardly at how bad he’s slurring.  


Niall looks up from where he was typing a message. “A friend. You met him at the pub. He tells you to get home safe.”

“You’re my home,” Harry blurts out.

Niall doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Yeah. You were my home, too.” And then Niall is pulling Harry towards the cab in front of them. Harry stumbles inside, almost falling onto the floor of the taxi and it makes Niall snort. Harry finally manages to sit upright, although Niall has to help putting on his seatbelt, and then they’re off into the night.

Harry’s eyes roam over Niall’s face, his chest, his thighs and he notices Niall’s hand lying close to Harry’s thigh. Harry feels the urge to grab it, so he does, intertwining his fingers with Niall’s before lifting it to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to it.

Niall looks to the side. “I really hate you, you know. Hated you for months, now.”

Harry blinks, listening to Niall attentively. 

“You were my bandmate for five years. We were, whatever we were, for months. I thought you’d want to keep in touch. I thought you’d want to know how I was doing. I thought you’d support me playing footie for soccer aid. I thought I _mattered_ ,” Niall’s voice cracks on the last word.

He tries to pull his hand away, but Harry clutches it tighter. “Don’t let me go. Niall, _please_.”

“Why not? I don’t know why I’m still supposed to care.”

Harry starts sobering up slowly, realising the seriousness of the situation.

“I won’t give you an excuse for why I did what I did. I just want to tell you I’m sorry. I’ll do better, Niall. I promise.”

“I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you.”

“Do you love me?”

Niall contemplates that question. Does he love Harry? He has missed, Harry. Of course he did. But he doesn’t know if that was because he loves Harry or because he’s used to having Harry around. Niall decides to think his answer through before responding. Harry waits in anticipation.

“Yes. Yes, I do love you.”

“Then please, give me a second chance.”

Niall takes a deep breath, looks at how Harry is eyeing him so hopeful, so earnest. It makes an involuntary smile break loose on Niall’s face and before he knows it, he’s surging forward, capturing Harry’s lips with his own.

Harry lets out a surprised little squeak before he’s reacting; cupping Niall’s jaw as he pushes his lips against Niall’s softly again and again, peck after peck. The kiss is a little dry, but then Niall flicks out his tongue and runs it over Harry’s bottom lip so slowly and teasingly. Harry captures it with his teeth, bites down before releasing it. Their lips find each other again; they are both smiling into the kiss and Harry really can’t get enough of it. He’s missed Niall. Missed his—boyfriend. 

“I’m giving you a second chance, you absolute fucking idiot. Talk more tomorrow, now I just really want to kiss you again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it. :)


End file.
